


Green Is A Place

by verhalen



Series: Seeds of Fire [17]
Category: Flameborn (Multiverse), Flameborn Omegaverse, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alpha Barahir, Alpha Bëor, Alpha Finarfin, Alternate Universe, Character Death, Dying whale noises, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Finarfin/Cake OTP, Gay Sex, Grief/Mourning, Incest, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Nesting, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Finrod, Omega Fëanor, Platonic Cuddling, Ring of Barahir, Secret Marriage, Time Skips, Too many feels, Visions in dreams, i'm not crying you're crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25260430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: How the Ring of Barahir passes from Finarfin to Finrod, and later comes to the House of Bëor.
Relationships: Barahir (First Age)/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Bëor the Old/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Eärwen & Finarfin | Arafinwë, Finarfin | Arafinwë & Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Finarfin | Arafinwë, Past Finrod/Turgon
Series: Seeds of Fire [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1418458
Comments: 26
Kudos: 46
Collections: Sunshine Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Sunshine Challenge 2020: Prompt #4: Green](https://sunshine-challenge.dreamwidth.org/5638.html).
> 
> _Green is a rich color that is associated with a variety of things including: awakening, growth, renewal, productivity, intelligence, exuberance, prosperity, money, luck, envy, greed, survival, nature, spring, and birth._
> 
> _"Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises." —Pedro Calderon de la Barca_
> 
> _Green can be the fresh growth of spring plants after a long winter. Green can be the good fortune waiting for you around each corner. What green things have you enjoyed this year?_
> 
> _Please feel free to answer in whichever way comes naturally to you, be it a memory you share or an artwork you create._
> 
> The title of this story comes from the song "Green" by Love Spit Love (which gives me major Finarfin feels, and also Finrod feels). ([lyrics](https://www.lyricsbox.com/love-spit-love-green-lyrics-k22tv4c.html) | [audio](https://www.lyricsbox.com/love-spit-love-green-lyrics-k22tv4c.html))
> 
> ~ ~ ~ ~
> 
>   
> In this verse, "ana" and "oma" are used for the Alpha and Omega parent, irrespective of gender. Beta parents are called "Mother" and "Father"; Finwë, though an Alpha, also goes by "Father/Adar" per Valarin custom.
> 
> Alpha Elves do not knot in this verse, however Alpha humans do.

"And now it is time to exchange rings."  
  
Maglor was officiating the ceremony, though he was still young yet, he was poised for his age and his voice carried a power and authority and _magic_ in it that none could deny. More importantly, he had insisted, wanting to see his oma happy.  
  
Maglor carried over the pillow that had been waiting next to his harp, that held Finarfin and Fëanor's gifts to each other. Fëanor refused to wear any jewelry that was not of his own design, so Finarfin had paid someone from his household to commission the piece months ago, not telling Fëanor about it - an arm-ring of golden flowers, the symbol of Finarfin's House. Finarfin had thought about going with swans, or perhaps even lions, since Fëanor had always called Finarfin his lion, but either of those two things would have been too obvious. Flowers, fewer could question, while the symbolism was still there.  
  
Finarfin took the arm-ring of golden flowers from the pillow and slipped it onto Fëanor's left arm; the arm-ring from Fëanor's ceremony to Fingolfin, months earlier, was on his right arm. Finarfin spoke his vow in the more formal venacular. "With this ring I bind thee, I claim thee, that no matter where thou goest, or for however long, thou wilt return to me, for for thy heart is mine as my heart is thine, our love ties us together as surely as the circle is never broken." He stroked Fëanor's face once the ring was on Fëanor's arm.  
  
Since Finarfin already had arm-rings from Fëanor, the gift from Fëanor sitting on the pillow was a finger-ring. Finarfin had seen it before the ceremony, and was delighted by it: a silver casting of two serpents, their eyes set with emeralds, bearing a garland of golden flowers. It not only spoke to Finarfin's love of gardening, but the serpents were there to symbolize the secret nature of their bond.  
  
Fëanor put the ring on Finarfin's finger now and repeated the vow, in the elder tongue. "With this ring I bind thee, I claim thee, that no matter where thou goest, or for however long, thou wilt return to me, for thy heart is mine as my heart is thine, our love ties us together as surely as the circle is never broken."  
  
They took each other's hands, then, and Maglor bowed his head. "I pronounce you wed."  
  
Fëanor and Finarfin threw their arms around each other and kissed deeply. The attendants rose to applaud - Fingolfin, Nerdanel, Anairë, Eärwen, Maedhros, Fingon, Finrod, Celegorm, Turgon. Finrod, Celegorm and Turgon were still young yet to know what was going on, only that they had to play "the pretend game" and not say things such as, for example, that Finarfin was really Celegorm's ana and not Nerdanel. But they knew happiness when they saw it, and in that moment, Finarfin was the happiest he'd ever been in his life, joy reflected in Fëanor's eyes.  
  
The ceremony had been in the old custom, the way Mahtan had told Fëanor and Nerdanel of how things were in the old world before they came to Valinor, back in the days when people could take many lovers, many spouses. Fëanor and Finarfin were both wearing flower crowns - indeed, Fëanor and Nerdanel had worn them at their wedding even though their ceremony had been a Valarin one, a secret nod to the old custom - and now, as Maglor sat down to his harp, they danced together, the first dance as the attendants threw flower petals, raining flowers around them.  
  
When the dance was over, Finrod looked over at the banquet table and gave a little whine. "Caaaaaaake."  
  
Finarfin chuckled; Finrod was so like him. "I suppose we can have cake now."  
  
Anairë and Eärwen, who were both with child, had made the cake together. The cake was beautifully shaped into two swans, and Finarfin felt just a little guilty about ruining their handiwork by cutting the cake and serving everyone... but it was cake, and the way Finrod's little face lit up as he was served a generous piece made it all worth it.  
  
Finrod immediately began to stuff his face and get icing on it, even more like Finarfin had been at that age. Fëanor and Fingolfin laughed fondly as they watched. Finarfin couldn't help but reach out and pat his eldest son's head, then rest a hand on his shoulder for a moment, knowing he wouldn't be this small forever, wanting to burn the memory into his mind. Finrod kissed his father's hand - getting icing on it from his face - and then he stopped chewing for a moment and just stared, his open mouth full of cake, eyes wide. Finarfin noticed Finrod was looking at his hand.  
  
"What is it, my son?" Finarfin asked.  
  
"Shiny," Finrod said through a mouthful of cake. Then Finrod took Finarfin's hand and examined the ring more closely. He remembered to chew and swallow the cake in his mouth, and he turned Finarfin's hand this way and that, seeing how the emeralds in the snakes' eyes caught the light. "I like your ring."  
  
"Thank you," Finarfin said.  
  
"Yes, thank you." Fëanor gave a slight bow. "I worked very hard on it to get it just right."  
  
"I want one just like it when I grow up." Finrod's eyes met Fëanor's.  
  
Fëanor chuckled. "That ring was made specially for your ana, the only one like it in the world. One of a kind. For our vow."  
  
Finrod pouted, and Finarfin felt a pang of guilt and pulled Finrod into his arms for a moment. Fëanor joined in the hug before letting go.  
  
"I'm sorry," Fëanor said.  
  
"I really want that ring." Finrod frowned.  
  
"Maybe someday when you get older and take a mate of your own, your uncle will make you a ring of your very own, something you like even more than this," Finarfin said.  
  
"It's the nicest ring in the world," Finrod said. "I really like the green."  
  
"Green is my favorite color," Finarfin said. He thought of his garden; he thought of the forest when he visited Fëanor up at Formenos.  
  
"Trees and plants," Finrod said. "The color of life." A pause. "The color of eternity, undying, ever-living." Finrod studied the ring again. "It's their eyes, the window to the soul... that means your love is eternal, right? True love never dies."  
  
"Yes, exactly." Finarfin smiled, proud of his son for having such insights at his age.  
  
Fëanor beamed. "Clever boy."  
  
Finarfin withdrew his hand; Finrod still watched the ring. Finarfin needed to distract him, not wanting Finrod to get insistent in coveting it, so he cut Finrod another piece of cake.


	2. Chapter 2

Finarfin woke with a gasp, sitting up, heart hammering in his ears.  
  
Though his marriage to Eärwen was sexless - he preferred men, she preferred women - they were dear friends and sometimes cuddled together to sleep; she was beside him now, her hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Ara, what is it?"  
  
Finarfin closed his eyes. The smell of smoke had been so strong, and yet now there was no smoke smell at all. He had felt the intense, searing heat, and there was only the cool night air.  
  
It had been a dream, of course - and yet it was not just a dream. Finarfin sometimes had dreams that weren't dreams, and he knew this was one of them. His mind replayed the horror - Fëanor riding off to war, ambushed by a pack of Balrogs. Fëanor restrained with a whip as others lashed him, mortally wounded him. Dying in Maglor's arms, going up in flames, going up in smoke and ash. He both saw it with his own eyes and _felt_ it as if it were him being dealt the whips of flame, as if it were him burning up.  
  
"Fëanor," was all Finarfin could say.  
  
And somehow, it was all he needed to say - Eärwen understood. Both her arms were around him now, holding him tight. Finarfin heard himself sob, and he fell apart on her shoulder, weeping as brokenly as he ever had. The last time he'd cried like this had been when Fëanor himself had told him to go back to Valinor, to renounce him, had insisted upon it, telling Finarfin the lives of his children were at stake. Finarfin had known, then, he would never see his brother again.  
  
But it was one thing to go back to Valinor, and another thing for Fëanor to be _dead_. After all they had shared - a bond beyond that of brothers, they were lovers, they were secretly married - Finarfin had felt it so many miles away, he had felt Fëanor die. And now Finarfin wept and wept, feeling as if he were dying inside. _Carry the fire,_ Fëanor had urged him, but it was as if his light were going out now, in the darkness of his brother's death.  
  
"Fëanáro..." Finarfin shuddered. Eärwen was rocking him now, petting his hair, making soothing noises. "Fëanáro. Ai, Fëanáro..."  
  
Eärwen kissed his brow. "Ara."  
  
"He is _gone_ , Eärwen. Dead. Gone. _Gone._ "  
  
"No one's ever really gone," Eärwen said softly. "Nothing is ever ended." She put her hand on Finarfin's heart. "He lives here. And someday, you will see him again."  
  
"He is _gone._ He is _dead._ " Even though Finarfin knew the truth of her words, the pain was right now and right here, and he could not let it go. "And I failed him. I should have insisted that he come back to Valinor with me. I should have dragged him..."  
  
"This is Fëanor you speak of. You know if that were possible, it already would have been done." Eärwen stroked his cheek. "You did not fail him."  
  
Finarfin didn't want to argue with her. He could barely string two words together as it was. He was wracked by sobs again, and curled up in the fetal position. Eärwen lay back down behind him, her chest against his back, her arms around him. Soon enough she would go to Anairë, but for now she was here, and Finarfin was glad for her steadfast friendship, that he did not have to face this alone.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Finarfin tried to pull himself together - he was the High King of the Noldor now, he had a duty to perform.  
  
Soon enough, news of the Oath reached him. He could neither fault Fëanor's sons for taking it, nor could he swear it himself, much as he wanted to, much as he _ached_ to. He had sworn his own oath to Fëanor, to return to Valinor and do what he could to preserve their people, their bloodline, if only to spite Morgoth, who would see all the Noldor dead or enslaved if he could.  
  
He had, indeed, sworn an oath to Fëanor a long time ago, longer than the oath to return to Valinor and renounce him. _With this ring I bind thee, I claim thee, that no matter where thou goest, or for however long, thou wilt return to me, for for thy heart is mine as my heart is thine, our love ties us together as surely as the circle is never broken._ Finarfin looked at the ring he still wore, and he had to retreat to his chambers for awhile, needing to be alone.  
  
Needing to cry again. He wept bitterly, not just for the loss of his brother, but now for what the Oath meant for his nephews - he knew this would only bring more trouble upon them. It was like adding insult to injury. He felt so _powerless_ , wishing there was something, anything he could do. It was an irony, being the King, and feeling so completely lost.  
  
The ring he wore, from his secret wedding ceremony to Fëanor what felt like ages ago now, was an ever-present reminder of his brother... one that hurt every time he looked at it. He wept like a baby, making noises unbecoming of the High King. He had to be strong for his people, even in the face of this latest tragedy, and he couldn't do that if he was breaking down every time he looked at his ring.  
  
With a heavy heart, he took the ring off his finger - it had not come off his finger since he put it on, not even when he bathed or washed his hands - and he placed it in a silver keepsake box with a relief of two swans in a wreath of roses on the lid, that held other sentimental things he'd collected over the years, like a lock of each of his children's hair from when they were babies, a lock from each of his children's hair when they came of age. Seeing Celegorm's hair in the box undid him again, and he closed the lid as quickly as he could.  
  
  
_  
  
  
"Forgive me, my lord, but when I was cleaning, I accidentally knocked this onto the floor." The maid put the keepsake box in his hands. "I hope nothing in it is broken. If it is, I will gladly replace it or compensate you -"  
  
Finarfin waved his hand dismissively. "That won't be necessary, I know it was not intentional." Indeed, Finarfin would know if it was.  
  
"Thank you, my lord." The maid bowed and was dismissed, leaving Finarfin alone in his library.  
  
The box getting knocked over _did_ upset him, but not for the reason the maid would think. Finarfin had been avoiding that box since he put the ring in it. Now, of course he had to open the box to make sure everything inside it was intact, and that meant seeing the ring again. Immediately, Finarfin's mind's eye began to replay the dream-vision of Fëanor's death, the way the smoke smelled, the way the fire _felt_ , like he himself was burning. And the terrible, terrible ache of his loss. Life went on, the days went on, and still Finarfin was not truly himself.  
  
Finarfin could not bear the sight of the ring. He had not been able to escape it, putting it in the keepsake box. Finarfin had a mind to go to Alqualondë and toss the ring in the sea, but that felt like an insult to what he and Fëanor had shared, not to mention an insult to Fëanor's beautiful craftsmanship, the labor of love. And the thought of the ring being gone forever sent another wave of grief through him. That felt wrong. Just because he couldn't deal with having the ring anymore, didn't mean that he wanted it destroyed, or forever lost.  
  
Finarfin sat back and buried his face in his hands, thinking. His mind's eye conjured the face of Finrod, his eldest son. He remembered his wedding to Fëanor, when Finrod was still just a boy, marveling at the ring Finarfin was wearing, that Fëanor had made for him.  
  
 _I want one just like it when I grow up. ...I really want that ring._  
  
Finrod was on another continent now, but...  
  
Finarfin rose and went to his bird sanctuary. He came to the roost of white ravens, and he took out Oloquen. He held out the lock he'd preserved of Finrod's hair at Finrod's coming-of-age day, let her smell the unique Omega scent, let her feel Finrod's fëa, and then he hung a magically weatherproofed scroll around her neck, that bore his seal and a message... and had the ring inside.  
  
"Find Findaráto," Finarfin said. "Go see my son."  
  
Oloquen let out a croak and flew away. Finarfin watched her go, smaller and smaller until she was just a speck and no more, and he breathed. It would be a long time before he'd see the bird again, and he would never see the ring again.  
  
But at last, Finrod would get his wish.


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you all right?"  
  
Balan's warm brown eyes were so kind, full of compassion and concern. Finrod loved those eyes. He loved looking at Balan in general - the lush beard, the pelt on his chest, the rough fur of his arms and legs, the sun-browned skin, the cute rounded ears. He tried not to stare for over long, but it was getting more difficult to keep from stealing glances... and wanting.  
  
It was especially difficult right now. "I'm fine," Finrod said.  
  
"You're not fine."  
  
 _Damn it._ Finrod had a feeling Balan knew exactly _what_ was wrong. Already, Balan's musk was stronger, from several feet away, across the fire pit.  
  
Balan's people still treated Finrod like some kind of god, and because he didn't want to complicate Balan's life, Finrod had been trying to sidestep the growing fondness, and desire. His fears about whether or not he would be seen as taking advantage of an awe-stricken Mortal were lessened when he could smell Balan's arousal around him - there was no way to fake that, it was genuine, not born of fear or obligation to give oneself as an offering to a powerful being - but he still felt it was prudent to not encourage the bond.  
  
And yet, they _were_ bonding. Finrod was terribly lonely, so far away from his family... grieving all the tragedy that had befallen his kin. Balan was good company. He loved teaching Sindarin to Balan, and learning the Taliska tongue of Balan's people. He loved learning about Balan's culture, and sharing his own. He loved exploring Balan's world, seeing all the little wonders of nature - thinking to himself, _Ana would love this_ at the different trees and shrubs and herbs and wildflowers and the wild beasts and birds and insects, and before he could feel sad about it, Balan was there to share the moment with him, and took delight in seeing the everyday beauty of his world through Finrod's eyes, made new. Balan made the wound of his exiled plight ache less.  
  
But now he was aching for an entirely different reason. Finrod had not had a heat cycle in some time, but he knew it when it came on, it was unmistakable. Finrod reached for his rucksack, and his hand dipped inside for the flask. He had not anticipated staying so long in Ossiriand. He had already gone through his supply of heat suppressant potion, to stop his heat cycles entirely. Now he had two potions left.  
  
"What are you drinking?" Balan asked, an eyebrow raised. "That's not Elvish wine, is it?"  
  
Finrod knew he could lie and say it was some sort of exotic Elvish alcohol, but he also had a feeling Balan knew it would be a lie, for it smelled foul, and Finrod was only taking one sip, per the dose.  
  
"It's not wine," Finrod admitted.  
  
"So what is it?"  
  
Finrod sighed.  
  
Balan looked hurt. "Do you not trust me, friend?"  
  
 _The problem is I_ do _trust you, and I think of you as more than a friend, and that is exactly why I don't want you to know what's going on with me._ Finrod rubbed his face. He had a feeling Balan wasn't going to let this go, and he wondered if not telling him was going to do more damage than just telling him.  
  
Then Balan grabbed the flask away from him. Before he could take a sip, Finrod snatched it back. "Ai!"  
  
Balan scowled. "It smells like poison." His scowl intensified. "I know you are sad, your soul is sick, but you -"  
  
"Gods, Balan, you think this is a drug?" Finrod shrunk back in horror. "Or that I would... harm myself?"  
  
"I don't know what you would do," Balan said quietly, "because you will not tell me. 'I'm fine', you say. But I can see the pain in your eyes." His voice got even quieter. "I can smell -"  
  
" _Fine._ " Finrod made a noise of exasperation. "This..." He capped the flask and shook it. "Is a potion meant to... mask the smell when I..." He used the cruder term from Balan's language, rather than the more delicate euphemism of his own native tongue. "Need to mate."  
  
"It doesn't do a very good job." Balan's nostrils twitched.  
  
Finrod almost laughed at that. "It hasn't started working yet."  
  
"I don't know why you would want to hide the smell." Balan gave him a pointed look. "You smell delicious."  
  
Finrod's cock stirred at that, and he resisted the urge to strip, get on his hands and knees, and present. He was starting to drip slick in his breeches. "I do not want to offend your people."  
  
Balan laughed at this like Finrod had said something ridiculous. "It is only natural! Why would any of us take offense?"  
  
"Where I come from, there are few men like me," Finrod said, meaning Omegas. His uncle Fëanor had been one; his own ana had been one of Fëanor's mates. Finrod remembered his ana's smell, the associations of strength and comfort. He looked at the ring he wore on his hand and thought of his ana now, even lonelier than he was, and his ana was surrounded by their own kind. He thought of how that all could have been prevented, if Fëanor had not sown hatred against the Valar... if the Valar had not given Fëanor a _reason_ to hate them. "My gods think we are... defective. That only women should be pregnant, that only men should get them pregnant. That men should only lay with women, that men should not lay with men, that women should not lay with women."  
  
Balan laughed again. "Your gods are crazy."  
  
Now Finrod laughed too. It felt good to laugh. In that laughter was a terrifying realization - _I love him._ Finrod stopped laughing.  
  
"You cannot help what you are," Balan said. "And I cannot help what I am... which is in love with you."  
  
Finrod realized then, that even though Balan was no Elf, he still _knew_ things, the way that Elves did. He had seen that prophetic insight before, but here it was now, as their gaze held. Balan came closer, his scent almost overpowering... intoxicating. Finrod wanted to bury his nose in Balan's chest and breathe deep. But he sat there, frozen, worried that he would make the wrong move, put Balan at odds with his people...  
  
Balan hesitated doing anything else, as if he sensed - of course he sensed - Finrod's worry. He scowled again. "Does that potion stop your heat?"  
  
"No, it just masks the smell."  
  
"So you still go into heat."  
  
"I do."  
  
"And if you do not... mate... is it like with our people, where you become ill?"  
  
Finrod nodded solemnly. "It will not kill us, but it is very unpleasant." Then he scowled back. "I do not need your pity, Balan -"  
  
" _This is not pity._ " Balan grabbed Finrod's hand, and put it on the hard bulge in his breeches.  
  
Finrod swallowed hard. Now his cock rose to full erection, as slick gushed out of his passage. He felt the need surge through him to be taken, filled, for Balan to claim him as mate, _fuck_ him. He wanted to feel all that gorgeous body hair rubbing against his skin, wanted to run his hands over it, wanted to feel Balan's hips slap against his, Balan's balls smack his ass as he conquered. But he still held back, just a little more.  
  
"I will fuck you if you want it," Balan husked. "I want it." And then Balan laughed again. "I don't understand why you drank that disgusting brew in front of me to hide your smell -"  
  
"I am afraid."  
  
"Of me?" Balan's eyes widened. "I will not hurt you, Finrod. I will make you scream, but only with pleasure -"  
  
"It's not that." Finrod looked down, and looked at his ring - the love that had broken his father's heart, that had broken his uncle's life. He looked back up at Balan, into those soulful brown eyes that melted him. "I am afraid of how this will _affect_ you. I don't want your people to treat you differently because of me."  
  
"I don't care if they do."  
  
"You say that now, because you are thinking with your prick." Finrod felt almost as if he were channeling his dead uncle with those words. "You will care if they distance themselves from you because they start to fear or resent you... you will care if you feel the need to distance yourself from them because they think I am a god and think you can make me do things for them."  
  
"You are as crazy as your gods," Balan said. Then he seized Finrod's face and kissed him, as deeply and fiercely as Finrod had ever been kissed. Just in that kiss alone, as their tongues met and played together, Finrod felt as if he were being claimed. Just in that kiss alone, Finrod was right on that edge, ready to explode.  
  
Finrod wanted him so badly. But before he could give in... "I also took that draught because... there are two more potions in my flask, and they are of an even more limited quantity than what I just drank. I need to be sparing."  
  
"What are they?"  
  
"One makes my heat shorter and less intense. The other is to keep me from getting pregnant."  
  
Balan laughed _again._ Finrod didn't know whether to find it adorable or offensive. "What?" Finrod raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Do you not think my people cannot brew those same things? Otherwise my tribe would be far larger than it is, we would be overrun with babies."  
  
"I don't know that it would work on one of my kind -"  
  
"We may be different, but we are also enough alike, yes?" With that, Balan dropped his breeches to reveal his hard cock. "We have the same thing?"  
  
Finrod's mouth watered at the sight of it. It was flushed a deep red, thick and veiny. Finrod's channel began to twitch, and another pool of slick gushed out of him. Finrod could only nod, hearing himself breathing harder, panting like a dog.  
  
"You could try our brew when yours runs out," Balan said. "Though I don't understand why you would want to... make your heat less intense." Balan gave him a wicked grin. "Where's the fun in that?"  
  
Finrod tried not to laugh. "I am..." He couldn't believe he was saying this. "Insatiable when I'm in heat." He shuddered, thinking of his cousin Turgon, the Alpha, the way Turgon fucked him and fucked him and fucked him as he begged for more. "I do not know how your kind compares to mine in..."  
  
"Only one way to find out." Balan winked at him. "You know... only if you want it. I won't force you."  
  
Even if Finrod had not been in heat, he would want Balan, but all of his senses were heightened and he felt as if he were drowning in raw sexual need. He found himself grabbing Balan and kissing him, tongues lashing with the promise of the hard, hungry fuck that he ached for. Balan groaned into the kiss, seized a fistful of Finrod's hair, and the next thing Finrod knew Balan was tearing his fine garments into shreds, fabric falling to the floor of their shelter in rags. And Finrod loved it, a shiver down his spine, cock throbbing, slick dripping, wanting to be manhandled, wanting to be claimed, Omega to Alpha. For all of the savagery of Turgon, it seemed already there was a wildness in this Man that not even Turgon could match, and the thought drove Finrod mad with lust.  
  
"Beautiful." Balan looked Finrod up and down; Finrod's stomach fluttered as he heard Balan's breath catch. Then Finrod shivered again as he felt the roughness of Balan's hands roaming over his body, feeling the smoothness of his skin, the sculpted muscles.  
  
Now Finrod was caressing Balan, sensitive fingers playing over the hard warrior's body, running through the delicious grizzled fur. Balan moaned, putting his hands on top of Finrod's - the feel of Balan's hands on his threatened to undo him - and Balan guided Finrod's hands over his body. "Yes, my Omega. Touch me. Feel me. All this is yours, if you will be mine."  
  
 _He called me his Omega._ Finrod felt as if he could fly; a stupid grin broke out on his face and he laughed with joy before he kissed Balan again. And again. "Yes," Finrod breathed, and kissed him again. Touched him, wanting to feel every angle, every texture, every part of the Man he had come to love, expressing love through his palms, his fingers.  
  
But then Balan grabbed Finrod by his hair, and shoved him into position - Finrod on his hands and knees, ass sticking out at Balan. Finrod heard himself whimper as more slick dripped out of him, and he shuddered with desire, cock throbbing, as Balan looked at him like that with an approving grunt.  
  
Balan was behind Finrod now, on his knees. Finrod gasped as he felt the tip of Balan's cock at his opening. "Yes?" Balan gritted out.  
  
" _Please._ "  
  
Balan laughed, as if Finrod's politeness in the throes of his heat was amusing to him, and slapped Finrod's ass before he began to push in. Turgon had not been small by any means, but Balan's cock was thicker and it had been long enough since Finrod had taken a cock that it was a tight fit. Balan knew to go slow - almost too slow for Finrod's liking - and at last he was all the way in, and the sigh that Balan made when he was buried to the hilt went right to Finrod's heart.  
  
"You feel good," Balan husked.  
  
"I love you." Finrod finally said it back to him.  
  
Balan slapped Finrod's ass again, seized his hair, and began to thrust. Right away it was hard and fast... and right away Balan's cock found the most exquisite rhythm on that sweet spot inside Finrod, stroking him just right. Finrod cried out and bucked his hips back at Balan, fucking himself on Balan's cock, panting, out of his mind with sensation and desire. Balan gripped Finrod's hips and thrust even harder, faster, slamming into him. The lewd, deliciously obscene sound of their hips slapping together, the wet suctioning sound of Balan pumping in and out of him was as loud as Finrod's cries and Balan's grunts. The smell of their sex was thick and powerful.  
  
Then it happened. Balan's shaft felt even thicker, stiffer. Finrod screamed as he felt the change, felt like Balan's cock was locked into him, even as it was continuing to thrust in and out. He'd taken Alpha cock before and this had never happened - Balan's cock was different; Balan was a Man.  
  
"What is that?" Finrod asked, curious.  
  
"Your kind don't knot?"  
  
"No..."  
  
"Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop -"  
  
" _Don't stop._ " Finrod growled through his teeth, making Balan laugh again. Then Finrod sighed and gave a moan of appreciation. "That feels wonderful." There was already much he liked about Men - the beards, the body hair, the stronger scent - but this... _gods_ , this was a treasure.  
  
Balan reached around to play with Finrod's cock, working it in time with his thrusts. Finrod knew he could have come without that, such was the way Balan's cock rubbed his insides - the way that knot felt, pulsing inside him - but Balan's hand on his cock made Finrod's pleasure even more intense, quickening him to that edge, and as much as Finrod wanted to stay lost there, not ever wanting the wild, sweet pleasure-tension to stop, he was soon pushed over the edge, letting out a fierce shout as he climaxed. Two thrusts later Balan let go, shooting deep inside him... and Balan's knot began to throb, which set another wave of orgasm through Finrod's body.  
  
And as Finrod and Balan came together, Balan collapsed on top of him... and then he bit Finrod's neck, hard... hard enough to draw blood. Finrod screamed as yet another contraction hit him, the pleasure so intense it almost hurt. Balan growled with satisfaction, lapping the blood that flowed, and when he tilted Finrod's face so they could kiss, Finrod felt a love so fierce that tears stung his eyes.  
  
"Thank you," Finrod whispered.  
  
Balan smiled. In that moment, Balan was the most beautiful creature that Finrod had ever laid eyes on. "Thank _you_."  
  
They stayed joined, with Balan's knot still filling him. It wasn't long before the heat made Finrod's cock stir again, made him crave another fuck. They rolled and lay on their sides this time, Balan behind Finrod, Balan's chest to Finrod's back, arms around him, holding him tight. It was so cozy, to be held like this and fucked in front of the fire, feeling safe. Balan went more slowly this time, and it was more sensual, with Balan kissing and licking the back of Finrod's neck and shoulder, trailing kisses up Finrod's jaw to lick the shell of his ear, nibble on the sensitive point. Balan's hands roamed over Finrod's body, and Finrod once again reveled in their roughness, moaned as Balan played with his nipples, then at last his cock. They came together again, laughing together with joy as Finrod's seed spurted into the fire. Finrod tilted his face so they could kiss, rub noses, look into each other's eyes.  
  
"We are mated now," Balan said. "I have other lovers, and I don't care if you do, so long as you make time and place for me."  
  
"I will," Finrod said. Then he scowled. "I still worry that there will be an issue with your people and us."  
  
"If we have a bonding ceremony that will be less of an issue. We will have to think of gifts to exchange."  
  
The ring on Finrod's finger gleamed in the firelight. He showed Balan his hand. "This ring belonged to my ana. It was given to him by his mate."  
  
"I have always admired that ring. I did not want to ask where you got it, I had a feeling it was sad for you."  
  
"It is... but it would give me joy to give it to you."  
  
Balan's hand rested on Finrod's heart. "It is a fine gift. Almost too fine. I do not know if I have anything that fine to give you in return."  
  
"That cock of yours is pretty amazing." Already, Finrod wanted more.  
  
Balan chuckled. He pulled out of Finrod and rolled Finrod onto his back, and climbed on top of him. Their hard cocks rubbed together as they kissed, and then Balan took him once more, and Finrod sighed as he felt that knot inside him.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The years passed and Balan became Bëor the Old. Finrod and Bëor had a long and happy relationship. Bëor's people did indeed accept Finrod as Bëor's mate after the bonding ceremony, and they were able to brew Finrod potions to keep him from getting pregnant at his heat cycles; Finrod and Bëor had discussed possibly having children, but Bëor already had children of his own with other mates and Finrod worried about the issues a half-Elven child would face, even as accepting as Bëor's people were. Finrod especially worried about a half-Elven child having a much shorter lifespan than his own people, not wanting to watch a child of his die.  
  
Even as Bëor's hair and beard turned silver-grey, Finrod still thought him beautiful - if anything, Bëor was even more handsome as an older man, to Finrod's eyes. And Bëor remained hale and vigorous well into old age, which was good because the years of love and companionship and trust only intensified Finrod's desire for him rather than diminished it.  
  
But Men lived a much shorter time than Elves, and eventually Bëor reached the end of his days, becoming more frail until he died. Finrod buried Bëor at their favorite tree, but before he laid the body to rest, he removed the ring that had been his father's - in those last few years, the ring had gotten too big for Bëor's hand and Bëor had been wearing it on a rope around his neck. Now Finrod took the rope that held the ring, and put it around his own neck; the rope still held Bëor's scent, and Finrod breathed it in as he watched the ground cover his dead lover; this was all he had left of him.  
  
That and the memories. In that sense, their love was eternal and Bëor would live on.


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you all right, my lord?"  
  
It was a perfectly normal question, especially considering what they had just been through - part of Finrod felt like he was still stuck in the Fen of Serech, besieged. Barahir had come to his rescue, forming a wall of spears around him, but Barahir had lost many of his own men in the fight. Indeed, Finrod felt like _he_ should be asking Barahir if he was all right, and not the other way around.  
  
But the question bothered him for another reason. It took him back. Not merely back to earlier that day, when they had cut their way out of the battle... but a long time ago, when Barahir's great-great-great-grandfather, Bëor, had asked him that same question, right as Finrod was going into heat.  
  
Finrod was going into heat again now. He had lost his heat suppressant in the fighting, and he had no doubt that the Orcs could smell it - that the scent had given away his position. He shuddered to think of what the Orcs would do if Barahir had not come. The Orcs might have done it anyway, of course. Finrod swore under his breath; of all the possible times for his heat to come on, now was the worst.  
  
It didn't help that Barahir was so very much like his great-great-great-grandfather in looks and bravery. The scent was different, but it was still very Alpha... very delicious.  
  
Finrod swallowed hard and looked away. "I'm fine."  
  
Barahir gave him a pointed look, but said nothing. He simply passed his flask across the fire.  
  
It was strong drink. Not strong enough, after the day they'd had. Finrod sipped and passed the flask back, and then wrapped himself tighter in the blanket. It was not cold out and he shivered anyway. He was a full day into his heat without relief, and now he was feeling the sickness, chills and fever. His stomach felt terrible.  
  
"You should get some rest, my lord," Barahir said softly. "We both should, if we're going to keep moving in the morrow."  
  
Finrod nodded, and lay down. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but as exhausted as he was, he couldn't get to sleep right away, he just lay there, aching, feeling miserable. Another attack of chills came on.  
  
Barahir came closer, and lay down next to Finrod, sharing his own covers with him. "Here, Elvenking. You're safe now. The Orcs are gone."  
  
Finrod fought back a snort. _He thinks I'm shivering and cold from the shock of fear._ "Thank you, Barahir."  
  
Finrod closed his eyes again but still couldn't sleep; it felt like he was being watched. Finally he opened his eyes and saw Barahir watching him. Finrod raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You're not well," Barahir said.  
  
"No," Finrod admitted. "I'm not."  
  
"You're in heat."  
  
Finrod's mouth opened, and then he closed it. Of course Barahir would know that, the scent was unmistakable. But it was still very forward - and of course Finrod knew that Bëor hadn't exactly been shy about it either. Barahir reached out his arm, strong and reassuring. "I can help you, if you want."  
  
"I don't want you to feel obligated because I am King," Finrod said sincerely. While Barahir's scent was stronger now, he had otherwise shown no interest before this.  
  
Barahir laughed. "Funny, I was going to offer earlier when we were moving along, and I stopped myself for much the same reason - I didn't want _you_ to feel obligated, because I had saved your life."  
  
And now Finrod laughed with him. That would explain why Barahir had shown no interest, even though he had smelled the scent all day.  
  
"I desire you," Barahir said, and now his hand slid up to Finrod's face, looking into his eyes. Finrod sighed - Barahir's warm brown eyes were so much like Bëor's.  
  
Bëor, who Finrod was grieving still. As well as the wise-woman Andreth of his House, who had been lovers with him as well as his brother Aegnor. The lives of Men were short, but the love of Elves was long, and Finrod had been reluctant to get attached all over again, for his heart to break all over again when he lost another love. So he had kept himself apart, had been suppressing his heat cycles... had been going without touch.  
  
So long that the need in him was overpowering. Just Barahir's hand on his cheek threatened to undo him. Finrod found himself grabbing Barahir and kissing him hard, cock straining uncomfortably in his breeches, slick pouring out of him. "Please," Finrod whispered.  
  
"It has been long for you, my lord, has it not?" Barahir asked, as if he could read Finrod's mind - Finrod would not be surprised if he had a touch of the Sight, as Andreth had, as Bëor himself had. Barahir's hand now slid from Finrod's cheek down his chest and stomach to rub the hard bulge in the breeches. "Too long without it."  
  
Finrod kissed him again and made an urgent little whine into the kiss, which he would have been embarrassed by if he did not need it so badly. "Please," he said again, more insistently.  
  
"We almost died today, Elvenking. Tonight we shall live."  
  
With that, Barahir kissed him back, as fiercely as Finrod had ever been kissed. Barahir's hands yanked down the breeches, and he hastily pulled the tunic from Finrod's body. Finrod's trembling hands reached to undress Barahir in turn, and once they were both naked Barahir climbed on top of him and kissed him again, cock rubbing cock, hands sliding over each other's bodies. Barahir began to kiss and lick Finrod's neck and shoulder, making Finrod's cock throb, making him ache to be filled, pleasured.  
  
Barahir kissed his way down Finrod's body, tongue licking trails of fire. He sucked at Finrod's cock, slow and teasing, let the cock slip from his mouth to lick it up and down, before his tongue swirled around and around the head, lashed the slit. Then Barahir kissed down Finrod's cock, licked and sucked at his balls, and split Finrod's legs, taking a moment to admire the slick passage, leaking onto the blankets. "My," Barahir said.  
  
He licked his lips and dove in. Finrod cried out, grabbing Barahir's hair as Barahir's tongue dipped inside him, readying him, pleasing and tormenting him all at once. Barahir moaned into Finrod's channel as he lapped, and Finrod heard himself whimpering, getting louder and louder as he thrashed about, bucking, losing control. At last Finrod, trembling, dug his nails into Barahir's shoulders and begged, "Please. Fuck me!"  
  
Barahir laughed into him and licked around the rim of his passage in lazy circles before taking a few more licks at his cock, then coming up to kiss him. Finrod gasped as he felt the tip of Barahir's cock at his opening. Barahir grabbed Finrod by the hair and kissed him harder as he pushed inside. When Barahir was buried in him to the hilt, Finrod could have wept for relief.  
  
 _At least I still have my birth control,_ Finrod thought to himself, glancing over at his pack of supplies, where there was a small bag of herbs tucked away.  
  
That was the last coherent thought he could make, as Barahir began to thrust into him, hard and fast, savage and punishing. When Barahir knotted, Finrod screamed, nails raking his lover's back. Barahir growled, pounding into him even harder, biting Finrod's neck.  
  
All thought was gone, only pure, primal _need_ , the exquisite sensation of Barahir's cock rubbing inside him just right, the knot throbbing inside him and adding to the pleasure... his feverish lust for Barahir's gorgeous, toned sun-browned body, the pelt on his chest, the hairy arms and legs, the way Barahir's beard teased him with each kiss. It seemed, also, like all sense of time was gone, and Finrod heard himself moan, "Oh, Bëo - Barahir," stopping himself from saying his lover's ancestor's name, not wanting to offend. But it was so very much like being with Bëor again.  
  
Even more than saving his life from the Orc ambush earlier that day, Finrod was grateful to him for this. It felt like saving his soul. Reminding him that though he had loved and lost, he could love again. That a piece of Bëor lived on in Barahir. For a little while he had Bëor back.  
  
Soon Finrod couldn't say anyone's name, couldn't make words at all, only noises, some deep and guttural, some high-pitched, keening, as Barahir continued to hammer away inside him, fast and furious. At last Finrod's legs were on Barahir's shoulders, and Barahir was stroking Finrod's cock in time with his thrusts. Barahir was shaking, holding back, and he licked Finrod's neck and rasped, "Come for me, Elvenking."  
  
Finrod let out a wild cry as his orgasm shattered him, spending all over Barahir's luscious furry chest, the muscular abdomen. Barahir growled and bit the sweet spot where Finrod's neck and shoulder met, hard enough to draw blood... just as Bëor had done that first heat so long ago. Finrod cried out again as he spurted more seed over Barahir's body. Barahir groaned with satisfaction, knot pulsing harder as he spilled deep inside Finrod's passage.  
  
Barahir rested his head on Finrod's heart, and Finrod's arms tightened around him. "Thank you," Finrod said, scratching Barahir's beard affectionately.  
  
"The pleasure was mine, Elvenking."  
  
They kissed. A few sweet, tender kisses became more passionate, and Barahir rose in him again, as Finrod's need rose. Finrod rolled Barahir onto his back and began to ride him, bouncing madly, and Barahir made him work for it, gripping Finrod's hips tight, driving hard, making Finrod buck like he was riding a wild bull. Finrod loved it, and it didn't take long for him to come a second time, or a third, riding and riding Barahir like his life depended on it. The smell of their sweat mingled with the scent of their sex, and seeing Barahir's beautiful body glistening with sweat just made Finrod want him even more.  
  
They got no sleep that night. After Finrod rode Barahir to several orgasms, Barahir had Finrod from behind, first with Finrod on all fours, then laying at their sides, Barahir holding him tight. Once again Finrod felt transported back to the days when he and Bëor made love just like this.  
  
They made camp for a few days; Barahir built a heat nest and took care of Finrod between fucks, making sure he got enough food and water, rubbing him down to help with the muscle aches.  
  
But finally they had to get moving again. Barahir delivered Finrod to Nargothrond.  
  
"You could stay here with me awhile," Finrod told him.  
  
Barahir shook his head. "There are still battles to fight, Elvenking. My duty calls me elsewhere."  
  
Finrod was disappointed, but he understood. He was also a touch relieved - he didn't want to use Barahir as a substitute for Bëor, which felt disrespectful to both of them. Nonetheless, the nights they had shared had left an impression on him, and on impulse, Finrod found himself reaching for the ring he wore around his neck. It had been his father's ring, and Bëor had worn it as a marriage token on a rope; when Bëor died, Finrod removed the ring before burying him. Now Finrod put the ring on the rope around Barahir's neck, and got down on one knee, taking Barahir's hands in his.  
  
"You have my abiding friendship and aid in every need... you and all of your kin, all generations," Finrod said. He kissed Barahir's hands before he rose.  
  
Barahir put his arms around Finrod and they kissed one last time.  
  
Finrod's eyes teared up as he watched Barahir ride off, knowing he would probably never see the ring again. But that ring was a link to his family of the past, and in giving it away, he had forged a family of the future.


End file.
